


i'll take your hand when thunder roars

by kblaze2



Series: i'm coming home to you [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Dogs, Established Relationship, Fluff, Homecoming, M/M, Military, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 04:56:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12976428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kblaze2/pseuds/kblaze2
Summary: Steve's gone on his third tour, and Bucky and the dog try to prepare for a Christmas without him.





	i'll take your hand when thunder roars

**Author's Note:**

> sequel to _let's see where we wake up tomorrow_ but can be read alone
> 
> it's just soft fluff bc i missed these boys and their dog and hate finals week

There's a small chance Bucky may have overdone it.

Stepping back, he stares at the monstrous tree in front of him. It twinkles before him, towering, taking up way more space than he intended. But the lights and ornaments are arranged in _perfect_ concentric circles, and there's no way he could ever take it down. Hell, he only really put it up to distract himself from the fact that he'd be spending Christmas without Steve this year. He's on his final deployment, thank God, but he won't be back until January. Bucky tries not to be too depressed about it, reminding himself he gets to spend the _rest of his life_ with Steve, and all the Christmases that includes. Which, Bucky reasons, is a lot. He still finds himself thinking about how much it absolutely sucks ass, though.

Tribble comes up to him then, barking and winding himself around Bucky's legs as he stares at the tree. His left hand reaches down absentmindedly to pet his dog's head. He's gotten so big in the past year, and Steve missed most of it. They'd finally moved into a house because of Tribble's size — Steve claims that was the only reason he was so adamant about the search. Bucky still remembers those few months Steve was home last, whimpering in his sleep or jumping at the slightest noise outside their window. Living in New York there are a lot of noises, and Bucky hated seeing Steve like that. So he joined in on the search, too, and they managed to find a good place outside the City. It's got a backyard, which is good for Tribble, and it's quiet enough that Steve can sleep comfortably, and that's more than Bucky could ask for. They'd only just moved in before Steve had to ship out again.

So this is the first Christmas in the house, the second with the dog, the first without Steve.

Bucky stares down at the angel in his hand. It's a worn, cracked, faded, ceramic thing, Scotch taped in places it would fall apart without. It was Steve's mom's, and he had always been the one to reach up and put it atop the tree. When he was older, and without his mother, he kept the tradition going, and Bucky was more than happy to help. Even when they had their small fake tree for the apartment, they made sure it got on the top securely. That was always saved for last, and it was always Steve's job. Bucky couldn't resist going out and getting a real tree for the house (with Sam's help, of course), though he did wait until about a week before Christmas, but he can't bring himself to put the angel on top. So he sets it on the bookcase closest to the tree, and doesn't think about how much he misses Steve. He continues to do this as he cleans up and boxes the extra decorations, putting them back in the garage, Tribble following him wherever he goes.

Tribble snuffs at him as he moves over to the couch, and Bucky rubs his neck. His dog is very loyal just like Claire said, and affectionate. Bucky thinks he's full size at this point, which is rather large, his black coat expansive and dark, patches of white on his underbelly still. And of course his socked back paws. His face is wide and happy, ears folded over, perking up now the more Bucky pets him. Bucky loves his dog, especially on days like this when he misses his fiancé more than words can say; he loves him on days he forgets to relax, to focus, to get out of bed; he loves him on normal days, too, when he goes to work and comes back to Tribble's loud and elated barking at the door.

The house is warm and cozy, the only lights on in the living room the twinkling ones of the tree. Bucky feels himself drifting so he goes with it, lying back on the couch, arm still around Tribble, who's panting evenly. Bucky lets his hand smooth down the hairs at Tribble's neck repeatedly, eyes closed as he settles into the cushions.

—

Distantly, he hears Tribble's barking filter through his subconscious. It's not unusual — now that there are trees around them there are lots of squirrels, and sometimes he likes to sit himself in front of the window and relentlessly remind the squirrels to stay out of his territory. Bucky's pretty sure he closed the curtains, though, but he doesn’t think so much of it to open his eyes and investigate. In fact, he would love to sleep a whole lot longer.

But instead of Tribble's barking he hears the jangling of his collar, incessantly, and what sounds distinctly like a man's voice. Bucky's tired mind tells him it's Sam coming back to check on him. Tribble trots back into the living room then, and Bucky can smell and hear him lie down on the floor next to him. Then there's a dip in the couch next to him, some extra pressure, and weird —

"Buck," he hears, faint, low, gentle. Sam wouldn't do that, and he definitely wouldn't say Buck if he did. Come to think of it, he doesn’t think Sam has ever called him Buck in his life.

There's a hand on his face, the touch soft as it grazes his cheek. "Sweetheart," the voice says, and Bucky must be dreaming. That's what all this is. A dream his mind created because of how much he thought about Steve being home today, and so Bucky indulges himself and opens his eyes.

Steve is there, smiling warmly, eyes blue and bright. The hand on Bucky's face travels back to his hair, tangling lightly in the roots. Steve's dressed in normal clothes, a blue and green flannel over a gray tee and jeans, his cropped hair just a little longer than it usually is when he comes home. Bucky's definitely making this up, he knows, and lets a languid smile take over his face. Steve's grin only grows wider, the hand still going in Bucky's hair, the cold metal of his engagement ring grazing the shell of Bucky's ear. That's weird, though, because Bucky knows Steve wore it on his dog tags.

"Steve?" he asks, furrowing his brow, because his brain is moving faster than it previously was, all his thoughts jumbling up as he tries to make sense of the sensations before him. He looks around, and the tree lights are still on and the curtains are definitely closed, and Steve must really be here in front of him. A week before Christmas.

"Yeah, hi, Buck," Steve whispers, goofy smile still on his face. "I'm here." Tribble barks his assent, getting up to lick Bucky right across the cheek and then snuggling up next to Steve. Who laughs and entertains the pit bull by scratching at his jowls, his other hand still in Bucky's hair. Tribble looks beyond pleased, tail thumping loudly against the rug over their hardwood floor.

"You're not dreaming, Buck," Steve says when all Bucky can do is reach up and wipe the dog spit off of his face. Always knowing where Bucky's head is. "I'm here, I'm done," he promises, thumb swiping over Bucky's ear. "I'm home."

Bucky sits up, mind whirling, heart thumping. "But — you weren’t supposed to come back until January — you said —"

"I lied," Steve says, simply. "I wanted to surprise you." He scooches himself closer to Bucky, as if that's possible. "Well, I really did think it was January, but by the time I realized I was supposed to be home now we had already talked about it and I thought it'd be fun to surprise you." There's a smile on his face now, and it doesn’t help with Bucky's short-circuiting brain. "As if I could ever miss Christmas with you, Buck."

Bucky reaches out, slides his hand up Steve's chest and Steve's fingers scratch at his head still; there's actual pressure against his fingertips and there's that sensation at his scalp. Bucky wraps his arm around Steve's neck and pulls him in, pressing them flush together, and Steve smells like _home_ , always has, and so Bucky knows this is definitely real, the way Steve's hand moves to cup the back of his head, and his other arm wraps itself around Bucky's back, holding tightly, and Bucky tucks his face into Steve's neck and just _breathes_. He doesn't cry, not yet, just holds on.

Then he pulls back and smacks Steve upside his stupid head. "You complete asshole — you let me be sad during the holidays for no reason!"

Steve only laughs, though he does manage to pout pointedly at Bucky as he rubs his head. "Well, obviously you weren't too sad seeing as how you put up the tree without me."

Bucky only glares. "Fuck you. Christmas is in a week and our house looked sad. And so did Tribble. You made the dog _sad_ , Steve."

They both look down at their dog, who looks nowhere near the realm of sad, but rather very content, nestled up against Steve's legs. Bucky doesn't even know why he bothers. Steve just chuckles and leans down to kiss the top of Tribble's head. "I'm so sorry I made you — and the house — sad. Will you ever forgive me?" Tribble snuffs at him, and Steve smirks at Bucky.

"Shut up," Bucky says to the pair of them, though he's losing his resolve at this point. Steve leans back up to his level, just staring at Bucky with those beautiful blue eyes of his. Bucky finds himself reaching out to take Steve's hand without thinking about it, tangling their fingers together loosely. "You're really here, huh?" he asks again, because he needs to.

"Yeah, Buck," Steve says again in that same gentle voice. He brings their joined hands up to his lips to press a kiss to Bucky's knuckles. Bucky smiles.

"Good," he says. "Now you can put the angel on the tree." He gets off the couch, expecting Steve to rise with him, but he's still sitting, just staring. "What?"

"You didn't put it up?" Steve asks, eyes wide.

"No, of course not," Bucky tells him. "Not without you." He takes Steve's hand, pulling him up off the couch. "It's tradition, Stevie."

Steve's throat works for a few moments, staring at the tree with his hand in Bucky's. His hand is warm, and Bucky tugs it closer to him, wrapping Steve up in another hug. He clutches back tightly, fingers digging into Bucky's shirt.

"I love you," Steve says into his skin.

"I love you, too," Bucky replies, and squeezes Steve tighter. "I'm glad you're home."

Before they pull apart, Steve stares down at Bucky with a little gleam in his eyes, and they share a kiss. Their first kiss in nearly a year, since Bucky said goodbye to Steve at the airport for the last time. Steve's lips are soft, opening up to Bucky, letting them meld together like water lapping at the shore. Bucky keeps a hand wrapped around Steve's neck, the tip of his index finger feeling the jump of Steve's pulse as he kisses him whole. As he fills that widening spot in Bucky's chest that thought he wouldn’t see Steve until next year. Steve's hand is on his jaw, calm and gentle and loving, as he licks into Bucky's mouth. It's a perfect kiss, really, though Bucky thinks any kiss with Steve is perfect. The one they'll share at the altar will be even more so.

It ends, though, Steve digging his nose into Bucky's cheek as he puffs warm air out against his skin. Bucky smiles, trailing his fingers into the hair at Steve's nape. He gives Steve a small peck once more, before finding his hand with his free one.

"Come on," Bucky says. "That angel's not gonna put itself up."

Steve smiles. "Well, it does have wings, so I'm pretty sure —"

"Shut up," Bucky stops him, definitely without heat, though. He hands Steve the angel he left sitting on the bookshelf, eyes tracing over Steve's face as he stares at it for a while. His thumb glides over the ceramic surface, tracing the delicate cracks its acquired over the years.

Bucky goes to pull a chair over from their kitchen. "Here," he says, prompting Steve to step up on it, reach out, and cautiously put the angel on top of their tree. Steve looks pretty pleased with himself as he steps down and looks up at it, though it's obvious his face is wrangling a few different overwhelming emotions.

Bucky moves the chair out of the way and slips his arms around Steve's waist, chin on his shoulder. "There, now it's perfect," he says, pressing a kiss to Steve's neck.

Steve's hand circle Bucky's, warm as they slide over his skin. Tribble comes up next to them, seeming content to sit himself down where they're standing, all of their eyes peering up at the glistening tree.

"It really is beautiful," Steve says after a moment, craning his neck slightly to kiss Bucky's head. "You did a good job. Even without my artistic eye."

Bucky just bites at his shoulder in retaliation. He's not that dedicated to it, at the moment. And Steve grasps his hands tighter, pressing them against his stomach.

"Merry Christmas, Buck," Steve says.

"Merry Christmas, Stevie," Bucky replies, though they've got a week and an eternity left.

**Author's Note:**

> made it its own series too bc i love this verse and wanna write more


End file.
